Ngũgĩ Thiong - Wizard of the Crow

The prairie ended abruptly at the foot of ridges forming a gigantic semicircle. The ridges were often covered in mist so that from a distance they looked like a continuous one, and it was only after reaching the foot that one could marvel at their natural formation of ascending steps to the misty sky. Each ridge was a series of hilltops, which against the light of the setting sun, looked like undulating silhouettes of cow humps. But there were a few times when the wind swept the mist away and the ridges, hills, and mountains would reveal their breathtaking beauty, sun rays dappling the forest trees with their mellowing leaves of green, yellow, and orange. Sometimes when the sun is rising or sinking one can glimpse a rainbow arched over the hills.

This forest was now threatened by charcoal, paper, and timber merchants who cut down trees hundreds of years old. When it came to forests, indeed to any natural resource, the Aburlrian State and big American, European, and Japanese companies, in alliance with the local African, Indian, and European rich, were all united by one slogan: A loot-a continua. They knew how to take but not how to give back to the soil. The unregulated clearing of forests affected the rhythm of the rains, and a semidesert was beginning to creep from the prairie to the hills.

Crossing the prairie on foot was a whole day’s journey. Nyawlra had started early, but her crossing took longer because she kept looking from side to side to see if she could catch sight of Kamltl. She also carried a basket full of things she knew Kamltl might need, and the weight slowed her. As tired as she was, Nyawlra did not really mind. She had decided to seek out Kamltl wherever he might be, for she felt she owed him an apology for the hard feelings she had harbored against him before she read his letter. The letter talked vaguely about his return to the wilderness but mentioned no specific location. She recalled that he had often talked to her about one of his favorite retreats among some rocks between the end of the prairie and the foothills. This was now her destination. But what if she did not find him there, or anywhere else, for that matter? She would have to go back, crossing the prairie alone in the dark; she did not even want to think about it.

She walked along the foot of the ridge, scared to venture into the forest. Hope was beginning to fade, and soon she started blaming herself for what she now saw as a fiasco. Am I also bewitched? Why would I follow a stranger into places I don’t even know, like the girl in the story who saw a handsome man at market and followed him to his dwelling in the forest, only to find out that he was a man-eating ogre? Appearances could be deceiving. Had she been deceived by Kamltl’s looks and deeds? Was he deliberately misleading her in his letter? Who after all was Kamltl wa Karlmlri? She recalled the gentleman of the jungle in Amos Tutuola’s book The Palm-Wine Drinkard, who had returned borrowed body parts to their owners and now dwelled in the forest, a skull among other skulls. What if…? She suddenly felt her knees drained of strength.

She saw a tree stump at the side of the hill and sat on it to rest and take stock of her situation. She had to make up her mind whether to go on with what seemed like a fruitless search or return to the city. She looked at the wide-open prairie before her, and it appeared to have no beginning or end, though in the horizon the skyline of Eldares was barely discernible in the mix of encroaching darkness and smoke from the factories.

“Nyawlra,” a voice called out behind her. Her heart raced, suffusing her with warmth. She had recognized the voice but dared not believe her ears despite the echo. Slowly, she turned her head to where she thought the voice came from. Kamltl was standing there, somewhat hidden by the bush.

She stood up and walked toward him and Kamltl held her hand. At the touch, Nyawlra felt her body tremble from head to foot while Kamltl felt blood rush to his fingertips, his entire body awash in a sensation he had not felt for a long time. Nyawlra let him lead her farther up into the bush to a grassy moor surrounded by piles of gray stone, almost like a courtyard. He led her into a rocky cave. “Welcome,” Kamltl said in a shaking voice.

Nyawlra was surprised at herself. Everything she had wanted to say to Kamltl as she walked across the prairie had vanished; she felt incapable of speech. If she spoke now she would frighten away the goodness she felt in the air. So, amid the darkness of the evening and a deep silence, they just stood there holding hands, as if neither could believe the reality of the moment.

“I have come for the honey of life-isn’t that what you called it?” Nyawlra said just to break the silence, setting her basket of provisions against the rock wall.

“You have spoken,” Kamltl replied.

Both thought that their words were a prelude to their usual light-hearted banter, but instead they found themselves stripping each other, wild-eyed, breathing heavily, their bodies taut with anticipation. He was about to remove her chemise when he stopped.

“I am sorry that I don’t have any condoms,” he said.

“No, no, don’t stop,” Nyawlra told him. “I brought some,” she added as she unbuttoned his trousers.

On the ground, in the cave, now wrapped in darkness, they found themselves airborne over hills and valleys, floating through blue clouds to the mountaintop of pure ecstasy, from where, suspended in space, they felt the world go round and round, before they descended, sliding down a rainbow, toward the earth, their earth, where the grass, plants, and animals seemed to be singing a lullaby of silence as Nyawlra and Kamltl, now locked in each other’s arms, slept the sleep of babies, the dawn of a new day awaiting.

They woke up as the sun was rising, their bodies cold. Beads of dew on their clothes shone like diamonds, and neither could recall when or how they had interrupted their sleep to put on clothes, for even now they felt as if in a dream. They shook off the dew.

“Show me where I can wash my face,” Nyawlra asked him.

He led her to a stream, where they bent down and washed themselves. The water was clear and cold, almost numbing. Then they returned to their hiding place among the rocks.

Nyawlra had brought a few boiled eggs, some sugar, some cocoa, matches, a kettle, a small cooking pot. Having gathered goods from the earth still in abundance around them, they prepared a simple meal and conversed like in old times, cheerful talk that massaged their souls and kept them laughing. Kamltl thanked Nyawlra and an abundant nature for the meal.

“Nature may be abundant,” said Nyawlra in response, “but it is also good to build a granary for when nature has the flu. I understand that long ago there was no home that could answer to the name of home without a granary being part of the architecture. Look at our Aburlria today. How many households have a granary? None, because they have nothing to store. Am I straying from my point? I suppose what is bothering me is the image of a hermit competing with animals for honey and wild berries.”

“You are still lawyering?” Kamltl said. “You should have taken a degree in law and become an advocate.”

“Even now I am an advocate. An advocate of the people…”

“And me? A self-appointed advocate for the rights of animals and plants,” Kamltl said, laughing. “But you will agree with me that my lawyering is more selfless, because animals and plants have no tongues with which to lawyer for themselves.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“That I am going to take you on a tour to meet my friends, all the natives of the forest.”

“Tree and animal friends?”

“Yes, and the birds and the plants and the mountains and the valleys.”